


Near Misses and Almost Kisses

by eyeslikestarlight



Series: Vermilion [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: 5 Times, Alcohol, Almost Kiss, F/M, First Kiss, Thanks Jim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-24 23:56:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6171808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeslikestarlight/pseuds/eyeslikestarlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which an unspoken attraction is quite obvious between Cullen and the Lady Trevelyan, but it seems there's always someone else around to get in the way.</p><p>or:</p><p>Five times they were interrupted, and one time they weren't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You ought to loosen up, you know.”

The voice comes from behind, spoken alarmingly close to his left ear. So close, in fact, that he jumps about a foot in the air and instinctively grips the hilt of his blade, thus proving the speaker quite correct.

Amusement dances in Scarlet Trevelyan’s eyes as Cullen turns to face her fully, and he doesn’t like the little smirk that’s pulling at her mouth. It usually means she’s about to tease him, mercilessly.

“I don’t see how being “loose” is a particularly good idea when one is in the midst of training, Lady Trevelyan.” 

Her eyes flicker down to his securely sheathed sword, to the shield resting very much on his back and not in his hand. “Mmm. _Training_. Yes, I can see you’re working very hard.”

Not even a minute of speaking to her and his ears are already growing red at the tips. “The _recruits_. I was training the _recruits_.” He gestures weakly to the group of soldiers several paces away, where he’s already delegated a captain to oversee them.

She laughs, and he finds that he can’t mind her teasing too much if it produces such a sound. “Relax, Commander. I’m not doubting your work ethic. Quite the opposite, actually; hence my opening statement.”

“And I stand by my response that there’s no use in such a notion when there is work to be done.” He crosses his arms firmly over his chest and lifts his chin up just slightly, trying to hold onto his dignity.

“Tell me, how does being tense help you fight more effectively? If you ask me, it only increases your chance of pulling a muscle, or crippling yourself with debilitating migraines.” She mimics his stance, crossing her own arms and raising an eyebrow challengingly.

Cullen opens his mouth to reply, but closes it again when he realizes he’s got nothing to counter that with. It’s a fair point, unfortunately.

“…Well then, what exactly would you suggest?”

A triumphant smile spreads across her face, and he worries he may rather regret asking. “Come to the tavern tonight. Take a load off. Indulge in a pint. Make some _friends,_ Commander.” 

Predictably, he holds both hands up and shakes his head. “I hardly think that’s a good idea for anybody involved. Nobody wants their commander hanging over their shoulder on their down time.”

“ _Nonsense_. It’ll be good for your men to see that their commander is a real human being who knows how to take off his armor and relax from time to time." 

Before he can reply, a finger held to his lips startles him into silence. “And it’ll do you some good, too, so that’s that.”

Another smile, then, one which makes his stomach do a funny sort of flip. And then she’s off, turning and walking away, calling back a “See you later!” and leaving him stunned in her wake.

 

\---------

 

The Singing Maiden was never a very sedate establishment, but somehow it seems especially rowdy tonight as Cullen reluctantly steps inside. There doesn’t seem to be an open chair in the entire building, except for—

Except for right next to Scarlet, naturally.

Not that her table isn’t crowded. It appears to be overstuffed, actually, additional chairs dragged up and squished in, which makes the empty chair seem that much more curious.

For a moment, no one takes notice of him as he wipes his boots on the mat at the door. Everyone’s leaned in, watching Blackwall eagerly.

“—an’ when he turned ‘round, I swear, the entire seat of his pants were bitten clean off!”

The table erupts in raucous laughter, complete with fists banging on the wooden surface and the sloshing of ale from over-full tankards, and Cullen is feeling more and more out of place by the second. He considers turning tail and ducking out again before anyone notices, but of course, that’s the very moment Scarlet happens to look up.

“Commander! You came!” She’d just been laughing, quite joyfully, which explains the way her entire face is alight, her eyes sparkling, her smile a mile wide. It isn’t because he’s here. But for a moment, he’d like to pretend it is.

She’s absolutely beautiful, and it hits him hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs. Her hair is down, spilling over her shoulders and down her back in thick waves, and in the light of the roaring fire it almost seems to _glow;_ a deep ruby red, as though it held its own burning embers.

Every head at the table turns to him at her greeting, and a cheer of similar welcomes fills the room, but he’s having trouble looking away from her.

“Come, I saved you a seat!” And suddenly the empty chair makes sense, though he never would’ve guessed it. She pats the seat invitingly, still smiling brightly, and he doesn’t need to be asked twice.

Not two seconds after he’s seated, someone slams a pint down on the table before him. He’d underestimated just how closely the chairs were shoved together to accommodate everyone, and even without his bulky armor on, his right arm is pressed right up against Scarlet’s, shoulder to elbow, and their legs a mere hairsbreadth apart. She doesn’t seem to mind at all, and he can see now from the warm flush of her cheeks that she must’ve had a drink or two already.

“Red told us you were coming, but we figured she was just talking out her arse,” Sera announces, leaning forward across the table. “Should’a figured even a serious bloke like you couldn’t resist her wily womanly charms, mage or not.” She waggles her eyebrows obnoxiously, and if that wasn’t enough to heat up his cheeks, the accompanying laughter from the others clinches it.

“Lady Trevelyan made a convincing argument,” he says in his defense, picking up the tankard in front of him with the arm that isn’t trapped against Scarlet’s.

“Oh, I’m quite sure she did,” Sera grins, and the laughter resumes twofold. Cullen buries his face in his pint and thoroughly regrets coming.

“Now, now, leave him alone. I invited him here to have a good time, not to be teased,” Scarlet says, but there’s no real scolding in her tone, her red painted lips still curled upwards. “Besides, that’s my job.”

Cullen is certain he’s going to need more than one drink.

“Anyway,” Blackwall says, loud and booming as he claps the commander on the back, “I never even got to the good part. You see, we _thought_ the bear was gone, but it turns out…” 

He sags in relief and watches the Warden gratefully, deciding in that moment that Blackwall’s next drink is going to be his treat.

 

\---------

 

“Okay, okay, lemme think. I never……………kissed a bogfisher.”

Varric snorts. “ _None of us_ have ever kissed a bogfisher, Buttercup. You do know the point of the game is to get everyone else to drink, right?”

“Well, I don’t bloody know! I done a lotta things, haven’t I?” Sera protests, waving her hands about and splattering a bit of ale on Adan in the process.

“I never been to the Deep Roads,” Threnn says, and all eyes turn to Varric.

The dwarf wrinkles his nose in disgust as he lifts his tankard off the table. “Count yourselves lucky.” Blackwall chuckles in agreement and clanks his mug against Varric’s, a simple cheers before they both drink. 

The quartermaster’s friend speaks up next, her name entirely escaping Cullen at the moment. To be fair, he’s a little distracted: it isn’t clear whether she shifted a little closer, or whether he grew a little bolder with the several drinks (is this his fourth or fifth?), but it isn’t just his arm pressed up against Scarlet, now. They’re joined from hip to knee, her body heat radiating into him, building up under the collar he continually tugs away from his neck. She’s swept all her hair over one shoulder, the one closest to him, and he can faintly smell something warm and sweet like strawberries and sugar over the general tavern stench.

He misses the woman’s “I never,” but whatever it was, Scarlet is drinking to it, as well as several of the others. Perhaps he should pay closer attention.

“I never kissed a girl,” Lysette says next.

Sera surprises no one with her helpful response: “I can fix that!” No one except the poor templar recruit, whose cheeks grow quite red. Cullen almost feels bad for Lysette, but mostly feels relieved that he isn’t the only one to endure such teasing.

He also feels relieved that there’s finally one he can drink to—but he nearly chokes mid-sip when he sees Scarlet take a drink next to him. 

“What?” she asks innocently a moment later in response to all the incredulous eyes on her. “There isn’t a whole lot to do in the Circle, you know.”

Sera throws her head back and laughs so loudly and heartily that she falls backwards off her chair, which only prompts further guffawing from the entire table. Cullen surprises even himself by joining in.

When everyone’s settled down enough and Sera’s clambered back off the ground, Varric leans back and smirks. “I’ve never laughed so hard that I’ve fallen out of my seat,” he says, to which Sera responds by extending her leg under the table and tipping his chair with her foot.

His arms windmill comically, and for a moment it looks like he might catch himself, but Sera’s foot ultimately wins out and he goes clattering to the ground, chair and all, much to the delight of everyone in the room. The laughter that ensues is more contagious than blight sickness, and equally as difficult to cure. Scarlet presses her face against Cullen’s shoulder in an effort to curb her giggles, and he’s never heard (or felt) a sweeter sound.

 

\---------

 

Snow is falling when they finally exit the tavern, gently dusting the village of Haven with an additional layer of white fluff. Scarlet immediately shivers and slips her arm through Cullen’s, huddling against his side.

“Escort me back to my cabin, good sir?”

“But of course, my lady.”

She is unsteady on her feet, a fact she manages to find endlessly amusing, and the slick ground certainly isn’t helping matters. He maintains a careful hold on her arm, especially while navigating the few steps down.

“So, do you regret joining us this evening?” Scarlet asks, drawing out the first and last words a bit longer than necessary.

At the beginning of the night, he would have answered in the affirmative, but things took a rather different turn than he’d expected.

“Loathe as I am to admit it…I do not,” he says truthfully. “In fact, I can’t quite recall the last time I laughed that hard.”

Scarlet comes to a stop in front of a cabin he presumes is hers, and when she detaches their arms to face him properly, she’s got one of those smiles on her face again. “Do I get to say ‘I told you so’ now?”

Cullen pretends to be exasperated, but he’s smiling, too. “Go on, then.”

She takes a step forward and pokes a finger lightly against his chest. “I told you so.”

The pair falls quiet, then, as he realizes exactly how close she’s standing. Little white snowflakes have settled atop her head, standing out starkly against the red of her hair, and his fingers itch to brush them away. Without meaning to, his eyes travel down to her lips, which are parted just slightly, and the whole world stops turning.

Her eyes have grown large as she blinks up at him, no longer teasing as she shifts just a bit closer. His heart is hammering in his chest, and he doesn’t know how this happened, but he’s leaning in, too, and his hand is reaching up to her cheek, and he swears he can hear her heart beating, as well—

And a loud wolf-whistle cuts through the air, absolutely shattering the moment and sending them both reeling backwards.

“All riiiiiiight! Get it, Scarly!” Sera calls through cupped hands, before raising two thumbs up and turning to wobble in the opposite direction.

Cullen’s cheeks are burning, and he can’t quite meet Scarlet’s gaze, noting instead that her hand is already resting on the door. “Erm, well, yes. Thank, ah, thank you, for um, inviting me. Sleep well, Lady Trevelyan.”

He heads off quickly after that, rubbing the back of his neck and cursing the ridiculous effects of alcohol. Scarlet remains at her door, watching him curiously as he goes.


	2. Chapter 2

Flames, engulfing everything. Screams of terror, of pain. Everything they built, crumbling to pieces around them.

Scarlet is the last one to enter the Chantry, Flissa’s arm slung around her shoulder as she helps the injured bartender inside. Cullen must’ve heard six or seven people stumble inside before her, claiming breathlessly that the Herald personally saved their life. It doesn’t surprise him in the slightest. 

Her hair is tied back, but sloppily, done in a hurry. Escaped strands are plastered to her forehead with sweat, the red hue darkened considerably by ash. The sloppy bun wobbles from side to side as she frantically whips her head about, taking a visual inventory of her friends and allies. Her eyes land on him for a moment, wide with a fear he’s never seen in her, before continuing past him, searching for the others.

“Herald,” he addresses her, hurrying forward, reaching out to grab her by the shoulders. Her chest is heaving with heavy breaths, overexertion taking its toll on her body. Hazel eyes look past him, settling on person after person, cataloguing them. Cassandra. Solas. Vivienne. Dorian. Maryden. Harritt. Minaeve. Krem. Josephine.

The strong hands on her shoulders move up to cup her cheeks, bracing her, steadying her. Only then does her gaze settle back on his, eyes full of panic. 

_“Lady Trevelyan_. Take a deep breath.”

“There are more out there, Cullen. The flames are too high. They need me, I have to—”

“You can’t save them all.”

She wants to protest again, he can see it in her eyes. But she takes a shaky breath, and he pulls his hands back, releasing her. The dragon screams outside, and the whole chantry collectively flinches. He can still feel the heat of those flames at the back of his neck.

“Then what do we do?”

Any time the avalanche may have earned them is lost by the appearance of the dragon. And now the strange boy with the strange hat is saying it looks like an archdemon. An _archdemon,_ for Andraste’s sake, as if a regular dragon wasn’t bad enough.

Though really, it doesn’t matter whether it’s an archdemon or not. They’re trapped now, with an army bearing down their doorstep and a creature that could kill them all singlehandedly.

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village,” the boy says. “He only wants the Herald.”

It isn’t right, it isn’t fair. She doesn’t deserve that, not after she’s done so much already. But she doesn’t seem scared, not like she was before. It isn’t her own life she’s concerned for.

The earth trembles, suddenly. Someone nearby is crying.

They’re not going to survive this.

She’s looking to him, asking for guidance. A solution. Anything. A single trebuchet remains, within reach, but in order to bury the enemy they would bury themselves, too. There’s something unbearably sad in her gaze as she understands.

The boy speaks again. (He’d forgotten about the boy. For a moment, the only thing that mattered was the way her soot-darkened tresses brought out the green in her eyes.)

“He wants to say it, before he dies.” 

A path. Chancellor Roderick, finally good for something.

“Cullen, will it work?” She turns to him, demanding.

“Possibly. If he shows us the path.” He allows himself to feel it. _Hope_. Their fates may not be sealed, after all. If she can get the trebuchet going, just one more shot…

That’s when he notices the glaring hole in the plan. “But what of your escape?”

Her fingers grip her staff a little tighter. She says nothing, and that speaks volumes.

“I’ll go.” He speaks without thought, the words leaping unbidden from his lips. “The templars should have been my responsibility. If I had…”

_“No,”_ she says, fire burning hot and angry in her eyes. “The people need you, if they have any chance of escape. You have to lead them.”

“They need the Herald of Andraste,” he argues. But she shakes her head, unmovable.

“They don’t need me alive. I’ll be a symbol, the Herald who died to save them. It’ll mean just as much, maybe even more.”

“We don’t need a _martyr_ , Scarlet! We need _you!_ ”

He’s stepped closer, without meaning to. Close enough that he could reach out and wipe away the streak of grime on her cheek, or brush the hair back from her brow. Her gaze is defiant, but there’s pain there too, and all he wants is to take it away, to go back to that night outside her cabin, when dragons were a distant thought and she was dusted in snow instead of ash.

“That’s right,” she says, voice quiet. “You need me. And I won’t let you down.”

There is no stopping her. He knows that. She must do this.

His eyes scan her face, desperately grasping on to every detail. The faint scar on her forehead, the angle of her brows. The hard lines of her cheekbones, the soft curve of her nose. He realizes, belatedly, that he’s memorizing her features in case he never sees her again. 

He gets caught on her lips, full, wanting, waiting. She’s right there, and he could do it, he could give in to reckless impulse. But there’s an entire chantry full of people waiting to find out what will become of them, and they’ve run out of time to waste.

He steps back, and his heart sinks.

“…Perhaps you will surprise it. Find a way.”

The alternative is too awful to imagine.


	3. Chapter 3

His toes are frozen. They’ve been walking all day, carrying all they own on their backs, whipped by sharp winds, trudging uphill then downhill then uphill again, and his toes are frozen. Not to mention the headaches, which have been particularly bad today, and fingers almost as cold as his feet. More than once, he’d found his mind drifting towards the sweet relief that lyrium would bring, just one draft. But things could be worse.

Always at the front of the pack is Scarlet, leaping atop rocks and scouting ahead, offering words of encouragement to the weary, cracking jokes to lighten heavy loads. She doesn’t seem to tire, despite everything she’s been through so far; she’s the one bright light that’s kept the downtrodden people of a buried town from giving up hope.

Cullen can’t understand how she does it. Not two days ago she was on the brink of death, no more than the figure of a woman carved from ice. (He can’t forget how frigid she was to the touch, the blue tint of her cracked lips, the color drained from her skin. The way she shook in his arms, trembled so violently he feared she would fall to pieces.)

But Scarlet is the embodiment of warmth, and it seems her light cannot be snuffed that easily.

It’s not so easy for him. The cold burrows deep in his bones, wearing away at his nerves until he can’t even feel it anymore. But they’ve stopped for the night, and maybe a fire will do him good. 

They don’t have many supplies, but somehow there’s enough dry wood and kindling for several fires spread throughout the camp. Cullen settles down at the furthest one, sitting on a folded blanket and pulling his fingers from his gloves, one by one. He holds his hands towards the fire, palms out, and they prickle uncomfortably as feeling returns to them. He’d like to do the same for his toes, but people might think it strange, so he settles for resting his feet as close to the flames as possible.

“Your boots are going to catch fire.”

There’s room enough on his blanket for two, and Scarlet doesn’t wait for the invitation, just settles down next to him and pulls off her own gloves. 

“I’m not going to let my boots catch fire,” he says, and he absolutely does not draw his feet back an inch.

“If you say so, Commander.”

She falls quiet then, save for the long breath she draws, the slow exhale. He looks at her, and only then does he realize that she is just as tired as any of them. Exhausted, even. Weary lines etched into her face, under her eyes; he wishes he could wipe them away.

(She’s still beautiful. She’s always beautiful.) 

“Do you really believe the Maker sent me?”

The question surprises Cullen. He turns his head back, gazes into the fire. Does he believe that Scarlet, magnificent and selfless and dazzling, is a gift from the very heavens? How could she be anything but?

“I believe that we would be lost without you.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” She faces him now, lips turned downwards, a crease formed between her brows.

He sighs. “Yes. I do.”

Scarlet nods, turns away. Her expression doesn’t change.

“I’m just not sure what to make of it all. It seems such rubbish. But all these people, they—they’re _counting_ on me, and I…” She makes a noise of frustration, runs her hands through her untamed hair. “…It’s a lot to live up to, you know?”

Being commander can certainly be a stressful job, but it’s nowhere near being called the Herald of Andraste, being lifted onto a pedestal. The pressure must be immeasurable.

He rubs his hands together, working the feeling back into them, wishing he knew the right words to say. “It certainly seems that way. But you’re more than capable, you know. You’ve already earned the love and respect of these people, and it isn’t because you’re the Herald. They admire you for the woman you’ve proven yourself to be, the woman you are. Kind-hearted, brave, loyal, caring. And a damned good fighter, too.”

She’s looking at him again, seeming rather caught off guard, and he wonders if he should have said all that. A flush begins to creep up his neck; surely it was too much.

“All I mean is that you don’t need to be something you’re not. You’ve earned their veneration just by being yourself.”

Still she says nothing, her hazel eyes burning a hole in the side of his head, and he feels that flush climbing higher, so he clears his throat.

“That uh, that doesn’t mean you have to continuously throw yourself directly in harm’s way, either. I mean, I—we need you _alive,_ and I—”

“Cullen...” 

“And that weight isn’t something you need to carry alone, you know, because you—there are people who—”

_“Cullen.”_

He looks at her, finally, sure that his entire face is red. Perhaps he can blame it on the fire, or the cold burn of the wind.

But she’s looking at him, and there’s something in her eyes he did not expect. His heart does some sort of backwards flip, and suddenly he doesn’t feel the cold, he feels nothing but warm all the way down to his frozen toes.

This time, she’s the one who’s reaching for him, fingertips just barely grazing his cheek, sending thousands of tiny shockwaves through his skin. She’s trying to tell him something, something in the way she’s looking at him, but he isn’t sure, he can’t be sure. All he knows is that he should lean forward, probably. Maybe then he’ll be able to understand. Maybe she can show him.

She’s close, close enough that he can feel her breath on his face. Her thumb reaches, traces gently over the scar above his lip, and his breath catches in his throat. This can’t be—but it is, and she’s so warm, and—

“Maker’s _balls_ , it’s cold.”

Cullen jerks back like a hand from a hot stove, whipping his head towards the voice. It seems a recruit has joined them at the fire, crouching down and staring into the burning wood and somehow _entirely oblivious_ to the moment he just interrupted.

The recruit looks up at his commander (Cullen can’t remember his name, but he thinks it might be Jim?) and holds a hand to his mouth. “Beg pardon, Commander. Mother always said I should watch my tongue.” 

To his right, Scarlet smiles. “That’s alright. It’s more satisfying, isn’t it? And it _is_ bloody cold.”

She seems entirely unbothered, and that bothers Cullen more than anything. He scoops his gloves out of his lap and stands, suddenly. 

“It’s getting late. I should turn in for the evening.”

He can’t even blame it on alcohol this time, or the rush of battle and the threat of certain doom. It doesn’t matter how she was looking at him; she’s the Herald, and he’s the Commander, and there are a thousand more important things to focus his energy on. It’s foolish, plain and simple. _He’s_ foolish. 

He doesn’t see the way she watches him. He just goes, wishing he had more than just a flimsy tent to hide out in.


	4. Chapter 4

The war room in Skyhold is much nicer than the dim and dusty dankness of Haven’s chantry. There’s actual sunlight streaming through the glass windowpanes, and the smoothly carved expanse of wood at the center of the room practically begs to serve as the most dignified war table.

Cullen leans his weight against the table with both hands, pouring over the weathered old maps as though they could tell him what to do next. A number of his forces have been deployed to secure and fortify the road to Skyhold, while still others are stationed in the recovering Hinterlands, the streets of Val Royeaux, the established camps throughout Ferelden—and with more recruits pouring in every day, it’s growing increasingly more difficult to keep track of it all.

He’s so lost in his thoughts and plans, tracking invisible movements across the map, that the creak of the door opening startles him more than it should. Worse yet is the fact that it’s Scarlet who enters the room, unaccompanied by the other two advisors.

“Lady—ah, Inquisitor.” He straightens up, so abruptly that one of his hands knocks over the little marker atop Ghislain.

Scarlet wrinkles her nose in distaste as she moves forward towards the table. “I wonder if I’ll ever get used to that.”

He only nods, standing the marker back up again. The last time he was remotely alone with her was at the campfire, and that ended spectacularly well. He doesn’t trust himself not to say or do something foolish, so the sooner Leliana and Josephine arrive, the better.

“I can’t tell which I like least, ‘Inquisitor’ or ‘Your Worship.’” She crosses her arms, leaning her hip against the table. Her hair is down, and it’s endlessly distracting, as always. “Actually, that’s a lie. ‘Your Worship’ is far worse.”

“I suppose it must feel very strange.” Cullen seems to find the map of Orlais to be very fascinating, as he hasn’t looked up since she first entered.

“It certainly does.” Scarlet tilts her head just slightly, watching him, the corners of her lips turned downwards. “I much prefer ‘Lady Trevelyan.’ Or better yet, ‘Scarlet.’”

He clears his throat, daring to look up at her. “Are you asking something of me, Inquisitor?”

She shrugs. “Only telling you my preference. It’s not like I could force you.”

“Technically, you could.”

This catches her off guard for a moment. “…Technically. But I’d rather not be known as that kind of leader.”

His curiosity gets the better of him. “And what kind of leader would you like to be known as?”

There’s a momentary silence as she considers, tracing a finger through the Korcari Wilds. “Fair, of course. Just. Someone who really cares for her people.” She looks up again, smiling. “And I do hope the history books remember my excellent sense of humor and my impeccable style.”

Cullen can’t help but chuckle slightly at that. “What kind of leader wouldn’t want that?”

“A terrible one, that’s for sure." 

A silence falls, but the air feels less tense than it did before. She tends to have that effect, bringing warmth and comfort wherever she goes. Still, he wishes Leliana and Josephine would hurry up. Where are they, anyway? 

“You called me Scarlet, once.”

So much for comfort. His shoulders stiffen, eyes frozen on the door where they’d wandered. In his peripherals, he can see that she’s moving, taking a few slow steps along the perimeter of the table.

“Once. But it was—you were going to die.”

She hums, a soft sound. “Is that the only way I can get your attention?”

The table isn’t big enough, he thinks now. She’s rounded the end of it, crossed to the same side as him, moving ever closer, and he’s finding it increasingly difficult to breathe properly. When she finally stops, there’s still a slight space between them, but it’s far smaller than it ought to be. His eyes travel from the door to the table, closer to her than before, but he can’t fully look at her or he’ll lose any remaining shred of self-control. Judging by the words that spill out his lips, he’s already lost it.

“You always have my attention.”

Her fingers are soft on his forearm, the barest touch on the fabric of his sleeve, and her voice just as soft when she speaks. “Then why won’t you look at me?” 

He squeezes his eyes shut, reminds himself to breathe. “Because if I do, I’m afraid I won’t be able to look away.”

The soft intake of breath is what gets his eyes to open again, to finally meet her gaze. His heart is in his throat, and it’s impossible to speak. Rays of sunlight from the windows have settled on her face, illuminating the warm undertones of her skin, and for the first time he notices the faintest freckles scattered across her cheeks.

She’s looking at him like she did before, by the fire, and he thinks he’s starting to understand what she’s trying to tell him. But it seems too much to ask, too much to think it could be true. Could he ever deserve that look in her eyes? Had they met in Kirkwall, she would have despised him, and he…

He can’t think of it, can’t bear to linger on the man he was, not when she’s still here, so close. His defenses are breaking down, crumbling around them. Her hair is just as soft as he’d imagined when he tucks a strand of it behind her ear, fingers delicate, lingering.

“Scarlet, I…”

The creak of the door is a thousand times louder than before, and more unwelcome than it ever was. But at least it gives him a moment’s warning, enough time to retract his hand and take a step back, head whipping towards the table to stare guiltily at the maps.

Leliana pauses in the door way, Josephine behind her. Both wear similarly curious smiles. “We’re not interrupting anything, are we?”

Scarlet sighs, almost imperceptibly, while Cullen shakes his head quickly. “O-of course not. Not at all.”


	5. Chapter 5

“I thought we could talk. Alone.”

He doesn’t need to ask why. It’s palpable in the air between them, in the way he has trouble looking at her head-on. He can feel it in the way his heart rate quickens when she enters the room, in the way her lips form around the word ‘alone.’

“Ah—of course.” 

His office is currently empty, but it’s far too stuffy, and he’s already got difficulty breathing as it is; he’ll suffocate if they stay in here. He needs air, and the battlements are always fairly secluded. So he pushes through the door first, holds it open for her, his eyes ducking downwards as she walks through and murmurs a soft ‘thank you.’

The area just outside his office is occupied, so they continue, walking until there’s no one else in sight. He’s had enough interruptions to last him a lifetime, and he’s sure she agrees. But each step they take increases his anxiety, each moment of silence building the anticipation farther than he can bear.

What will she say? What will he say? He has to say something. Anything. 

“It’s a…nice…day.”

Scarlet comes to an abrupt stop, accompanied by a short laugh. “Really? That’s what you’re going to start with?”

Maker, he’s already gone and mucked it all up. He feels his face go red as he rubs the back of his neck, struggling to find words. “Well, that is—I mean, I…” But all he manages is a frustrated sigh. “I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

“I think it’s time we stop beating around the bush.” She leans back against the stone wall behind her. “Call me crazy, but there’s something going on, here.”

Cullen takes a deep breath, tries to steady himself. There’s no use denying it, now. “I believe it is embarrassingly obvious how I feel, Lady—Inquisitor.”

She’s watching him, carefully, curiously. “But you’re holding back.” 

“No. I—yes. That is—” Maker, where is his mind? How does she manage to reduce him to such a state? 

He lifts a hand up to rub his brow, where a headache is beginning to form. In truth, he doesn’t believe he is worthy of a woman like Scarlet. Would he even have cared for her if they had met two, three years ago? He truly doesn’t know. The things he said about mages, the things he _believed_ …

She is radiant, far brighter than he. She deserves so much more. But he looks at her, and he isn’t sure he has the strength to resist. 

“You’re the _Inquisitor_.” He takes a step closer; slow, cautious. “We’re at _war_ , and…and you……I didn’t think it was possible.”

“Forget about the war, Cullen. What do you _want?_ ”

She must know the answer. She must be able to see it in his eyes, in the way he takes another step closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. And still she asks, because he’s yet to find the courage to tell her.

“I…I want…”

But the words won’t come, they’re just out of reach. He’s caught in her eyes, the earthy browns and swirls of green, and have her lashes always been that long? 

Maybe he can’t tell her. Maybe he should show her, instead. 

Her breath hitches when his hands settle on her hips. He leans, and she follows, and his heart may just beat out of his chest. She’s here, warm and solid in his hands, and she isn’t going anywhere. 

There’s barely an inch between them now, and her eyes have drifted closed. He allows his to do the same, and their noses bump, gently. A quick adjustment, a tilt of the head. Everything has been building up to this one moment, the moment he can finally— 

“Commander!” 

Maker, just take him right now. 

Scarlet draws her head back, looking to the side and exhaling heavily. For a moment, Cullen is just too stunned, too overwhelmingly frustrated to move. 

“You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana’s report.”

He turns now, slowly, deliberately, to find that the soldier approaching them is none other than the same exceedingly oblivious Jim from the campfire. Cullen grinds out a single word, through gritted teeth.

“ _What_.”

“Sister Leliana’s report,” Jim repeats, extending the file in question. So innocent, so earnest. But there are daggers shooting out of Cullen’s eyes, and the soldier falters, uncertain. “You wanted it delivered…without delay.”

Cullen says nothing. He doesn’t have to, because the look on his face says it all. If he were a mage, Jim would have caught fire by now from the intensity of his glare.

Jim’s eyes are wide, confused. Until his gaze flickers to the side, where Scarlet still stands with her back against the wall, and then returns to his commander’s red face. Understanding finally blossoms, and he takes a cautious step back, retracting his hands.

“Or…to your office! Right…” Another step, and then another, until he turns tail and beats a hasty retreat.

The only sound now, besides the subsequent slam of a door, is the cool mountain breeze that rushes past their ears. Cullen’s back still faces Scarlet, and he doesn’t see the way she’s deflated, the disappointment on her face. But he hears it in her voice when she speaks.

“…Look, if you need to—”

No. Absolutely not. They’ve come this far, and he refuses to leave it unresolved. Not this time. Before she can finish her sentence, before he can second guess himself, he’s moved forward and grasped the side of her head, and her gasp is muffled by his mouth covering hers.

Everything has come to a halt, time has lost all meaning. Her lips are pressed against his, and all of those near misses and almost kisses have made it that much sweeter. She’s momentarily overwhelmed, too caught off guard, but then her hands settle on his back and she responds with enthusiasm, leaning up on her toes and pressing in closer.

He runs his fingers through her hair, just as soft as he remembered, and he loses himself entirely in the faint scent of strawberries, the smooth brush of her lips against his, insistent, eager. The cold mountain air is nothing compared to the warmth of her body. 

It takes Cullen far too long to return to his senses, but when he finally draws back, he finds that he can’t regret his actions. He can see from her expression that she doesn’t, either.

Even still. “I’m sorry,” he says, a little breathless. He trails a finger down her cheek, lightly, and her smile makes his heart sing. “I’ve been waiting to do that for far too long.”

She laughs, a sound he wishes he could bottle up and keep forever. “You certainly have.” This time, she’s the one to lean in first, to cup his cheek and press a tender kiss to his lips. A lingering one, longer than necessary, not long enough. His headache has all but vanished, his worries forgotten; he’s quite sure he’s never felt this warm in his life.

“The Inquisitor and the Commander,” she says once she’s pulled back, amusement dancing in her eyes. “What will people say?”

Cullen sighs, though he is far too content to truly be bothered at the moment. “Whatever it is, I’m sure half the barracks is talking about it by now." 

“I’ll never hear the end of it from Sera,” Scarlet adds.

“Maker, Leliana is going to be outrageously smug." 

Scarlet tsks, still smiling, and runs her thumb along the line of his jaw. “Such fuss. How will we ever deal with it all?”

“I don’t know, Scarlet,” Cullen says, leaning closer once more, angling his head just so. “But I think we’ll manage.” He murmurs these words against her lips before capturing them, claiming them. She hums in agreement before drawing back.

“Hold on, what was that? What did you just call me?” A teasing smile pulls at her lips, a triumphant glint in her gaze.

“Scarlet,” he says, slowly, savoring the taste of it on his tongue. “ _Scarlet_ ,” he whispers, and then he kisses her, again, and again, and again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Talk to me on [tumblr!](http://www.tr3velyan.tumblr.com)


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